Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  But Carl left the room without a word, returning several minutes later with a ceremonial sword and a bottle of alcohol.

  There were only two ways to kill an Ichorian—destroy the blood flowing through their veins or poison one by forcing them to ingest Hydraian blood.

  Sierra had already started to heal enough for her mind to grasp Carl’s intentions, her eyes pleading with her soundless mouth. He ignored her and instead showed the overproof hard liquor label on the bottle to the audience. Upon a few murmurs of approval, he upended the contents over her head.

  Issac’s palm slickened against Astasiya’s skin, but his grasp remained firm. She would not handle this next part well.

  Hell, she’d not handle this part well.

  Sierra’s agony was palpable, the alcohol sliding over her exposed flesh.

  Despite anticipating the scene, Issac’s stomach still churned. He’d witnessed this dozens of times over his life span, but it never grew easier. Osiris, however, seemed quite pleased. Eager, even.

  Carl picked up Sierra’s discarded shirt and pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it to life and lighting the fabric on fire.

  This was the part Issac sought to protect Astasiya from, having noticed her reactions to Lucinda’s little trick earlier.

  Astasiya is afraid of fire.

  Given the history of her parents, he couldn’t blame her.

  Carl tossed the flaming shirt onto Sierra’s lap, the alcohol spreading the blaze rapidly over her form, destroying her. And still, she didn’t move because of Osiris’s command.

  Astasiya stopped breathing, sensing the massacre behind her. Issac pressed his lips to hers, again attempting to hide her reactions from the room. He refused to let her end up on that stage, no matter the cost. Everyone would assume him infatuated, an oddity in his life, but one he accepted.

  Consider me mad with lust. It’s not exactly a lie.

  He held Astasiya to him when she tried to pull back, her fear heightening.

  Not yet, darling, he wanted to tell her. Give it another minute.

  The sword glinted in the light, Carl slicing it through the air, putting Sierra out of her misery while her body still burned.

  Astasiya’s nails bit into the jacket covering Issac’s forearm, which lay across her lap. He released her mouth and neck, having kept his lips there to keep her from screaming. She immediately turned, her spine rigid as she found Sierra’s mutilated corpse.

  Fortunately, the majority of the fire had died off, leaving her burnt and headless in the chair. Similar to Owen.

  Which meant someone with Conclave knowledge had killed him. The mystery nagged at Issac, not feeling right. This whole evening had been about the Hydraian lurking in New York City, Osiris’s displeasure over not knowing clear.

  So who killed the Hydraian if not an Ichorian?

  Osiris kicked Sierra’s head across the floor, giving it an offending glance for having soiled his shoes. “Let this be a lesson to you, Carl. I allowed you to clean up your mess this time. I won’t be so lenient on your next offense.”

  “Thank you, Sire.” Carl bowed, then left the room, sword and bottle in hand. The body continued to smolder in his wake.

  Astasiya’s breathing evened, but she continued to clutch Issac’s suit jacket. He flattened his palm against her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze to remind her of his presence. If it helped, she didn’t show it, her focus on the stage.

  If only he could tap into her mind, he could alter the scene before her, help to lessen the impact. Although, he suspected she wouldn’t appreciate that. His blonde was a fighter, the type of woman who chose to face her fears rather than run from them. That much he ascertained last night at the gala. She could have demanded he take her home and answer her questions, but she stayed beside him instead.

  Osiris clapped his hands twice, his smile wide. “Now, let’s have some real fun.”

  Astasiya tilted her head, her attention returning to Issac. The purpose of tonight’s lesson lurked in her gaze, as did a hint of dismay. He’d told her during their second meeting that it was customary for one in his position to kill her kind. She now understood just what he risked in breaking that rule.

  Why? she seemed to be asking.

  Of course, she already knew the answer—he needed her alive. But it did indeed go deeper than that. Deeper than he cared to admit, even to himself.

  “You all know how this works,” Osiris continued, gesturing to the prostitute and giving Anya a knowing smile. “Bring her forward.”

  “Happily.” Anya stood, her stilettos clacking over the marble as she dragged the human along behind her. Mike gingerly accepted the handle, careful not to touch Anya despite her wearing gloves. Rather than return to her seat, she remained on the stage.

  Osiris arched a brow at Aidan, who shrugged. “She decided she wants a new toy. You know I can’t say no to her.”

  “It’s going to make this a very short auction,” Osiris replied, glancing around the auditorium. “Is there anyone here who wishes to duel Anya for property rights?”

  Astasiya had gone stiff again, but it wasn’t so much fear Issac sensed from her as it was rage. While he preferred that emotion to terror, he needed her to calm down and conveyed that with a nip against her ear. She startled and glanced back at him again.

  Calm down, he told her with his eyes.

  “Anyone?” Osiris called again, sounding disappointed.

  Anya had slipped off a single glove to study her ruby nails. “Cowards, the lot of them.”

  Osiris chuckled. “I think everyone is tired of dying by your hand, dear.”

  She pouted. “But it’s been so long since my last challenge. I’m starting to get bored.”

  “Perhaps you can find entertainment in your new pet,” Osiris offered, his tone and manner indulgent. She could literally poison the blood through a single touch, a rare gift that he adored and used on occasion.

  “Does that mean I win?” Such a brilliant actress, she even sounded hopeful.

  “Yes, dear. I don’t think anyone is willing to take the risk.” He sounded disappointed, but he grinned as Anya skipped over to the woman on the floor. She crouched down to trace her bare finger over the woman’s mouth.

  “Ow!” She yanked her hand back and waved it in the air. “She bites!” Her dark head swiveled in their direction. “Oh, Aidan, she’s perfect.”

  The fond smile he gave her belied his shaking head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, sweetheart.”

  Issac smirked, feigning amusement for the charade at play. “I think we all have a pretty good idea of exactly what you’ll do with her.”

  Astasiya flinched, clearly not appreciating the humor in his tone. It was all for show, but she’d have no way of knowing that since he never explained any of this to her.

  “Anya’s touch is lethal,” he murmured against her ear as the woman in question dragged the human across the stage again. “That’s why no one will challenge her.”

  “Sit,” Anya commanded before sliding back into Aidan’s lap.

  The human on the floor didn’t exactly obey so much as collapse into a heap, her fight depleting.

  Just hang on, Issac thought at her. You’ll be all right.

  “Well, this wasn’t nearly the diversion I hoped for,” Osiris mused. “Does anyone have any grievances they wish to air? Punishment to deliver, perhaps?” He blinked long lashes in their direction on the latter inquiry, his question pointed.

  No way in hell was Issac dragging Astasiya up on that stage.

  Knowing how Osiris preferred to play, Issac maintained a bored expression, neither shaking his head nor nodding. If he showed no outward reaction, the older Ichorian would grow bored.

  Several shouts graced the air, a disagreement being voiced from across the room. Osiris shifted focus with interest, his curiosity piqued.

  Ah, a power struggle.

  Issac nearly rolled his eyes at the blatant stupidity of his brethren.

&n
bsp; Energy flickered across the auditorium, Ichorians using psychic powers to dismantle their challengers. A few ended up on the stage, fighting to prove their worth and status.

  No one attempted to test their luck with Aidan’s line.

  Astasiya calmed with each passing minute, seemingly more comfortable with Ichorians harming one another. She almost appeared bored by the end, or perhaps just so emotionally exhausted that she could no longer feel.

  It’d been hours since she last spoke. Issac found he missed her voice. He missed her.

  Brushing his lips against her temple, he guided her closer to his chest, encouraging her to lay her head against his shoulder. She didn’t fight him, didn’t even flinch, her body melting into his as if it always belonged there.

  Definitely fatigued.

  It took significant energy to suppress natural instincts, something he knew all too well from centuries of experience.

  Fights continued throughout the room, spoiling the pristine marble floors.

  Blood.

  Smoke.

  Unmentionables.

  Astasiya seemed oblivious to it all, having lost herself to her own thoughts. It concerned him to see her so broken, the mental abuse of the evening taking its toll.

  Don’t leave me, darling. We’re not through yet.

  The challenges withered, the bloodshed done.

  Osiris seemed pleased with the outcome, enough that he excused the room, ending what had turned into a very long Conclave.

  Finally.

  Issac roused Astasiya on his lap, her eyes having fallen closed some time ago. She blinked, her green irises holding a dark note that disturbed him. He would fix that soon.

  “She did well,” Osiris said, approaching them.

  “Mmm, yes, she did.” Issac nuzzled her neck, expecting her pulse to spike, but it remained steady. Too steady. As if she no longer cared, the night having deadened all her instinctive reactions.

  Not good…

  Osiris assessed her slowly, thoroughly. Aside from a shallow swallow, she didn’t outwardly react, both pleasing and concerning Issac.

  Had she figured out how to mask her reactions already? Or had tonight left her so fractured she could no longer feel?

  “Any idea what her talent will be?” Osiris asked.

  Issac nodded, having already thought of a clever truth should this question arise. “She has an affinity for language, so likely something vocal.”

  “Fascinating. Do let me know when it’s done.” Osiris’s statement implied he approved of Astasiya joining the Ichorian ranks.

  Too bad that was an impossibility. “Of course,” Issac said out loud, knowing those were the words his leader desired.

  Osiris refocused on Astasiya and gave her a doting smile. “It was nice to make your acquaintance, young one. I look forward to knowing you better in the centuries to come.” He didn’t wait for a response, meandering toward the other side of the room to begin chatting with another group.

  15

  The World Has Gone Silent

  “We’re dismissed.” The words were a breath against Stas’s ear. They should have elicited relief, but she felt nothing.

  For years, she knew this world existed and what it could do, had witnessed the darkest heart of it when her parents were burned alive. But tonight’s live horror show took her expectations to a whole new level of hell.

  Pure evil existed here.

  Demons.

  Blood.

  Torture.

  Strong hands went to her hips, helping her to stand on numb legs. An arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close to a hard, masculine body.

  Lips brushed her neck, words whispered in her ear.

  She heard nothing.

  Understood nothing.

  They started walking, Issac’s palm against her lower back, his body between her and the macabre scene. Not that it helped. Sierra’s remains were forever burned into Stas’s mind.

  So similar to Owen.

  To her parents.

  She shivered, thinking about how much this world had taken from her. And she didn’t understand why. Not entirely, anyway. Something about laws and an ancient history she knew nothing about.

  Issac possessed all the answers.

  Do I still want those details?

  Not right now. Maybe not ever.

  The night air ruffled her hair. We’re outside. Another fact that should have calmed her, yet nothing happened. Her heartbeat remained a dull thud in her ears, her hands cool, her body moving without her direction.

  Issac opened a door, guiding her inside and onto a leather seat. His car. He could take her anywhere he wanted. That should have provoked some semblance of fear, a question, anything, but she didn’t have the energy to try. What did it matter? This world was destined to kill her anyway.

  On a throne.

  Surrounded by hungry demons.

  Having her skin stripped from her bones.

  Burnt to a crisp.

  She gagged, the acrid scent still very much alive in her nose. God, would she ever rid it from her clothes? Her hair? Her skin?

  Issac’s palm squeezed her thigh, his other hand on the steering wheel, already driving. How did she keep losing time? Or was he moving faster than her mind could comprehend?

  She closed her eyes, too exhausted to debate the semantics.

  “Astasiya, what did I tell you about using your persuasive talent?” Daddy’s brow lifted in that way that meant she was in big trouble.

  She bunched her mouth to the side, thinking. “Not to use it on strangers,” she admitted slowly. “But I wanted that ice cream and he wouldn’t give it to me.”

  “That’s not a reason to demand it.”

  She folded her arms. It seemed like a good reason to her. The ice cream man had chocolate and she looooved chocolate. “But you demand Mom do things alllll the time that she doesn’t want to do because you want something.”

  Momma didn’t say anything, but her eyes sparkled as she waited for Daddy to reply.

  “What I do with your mom is very different and private. Do I persuade strangers?”

  Astasiya pinched her lips again and slowly shook her head. No. “We don’t show strangers.”

  “And why don’t we persuade strangers?” he asked, his voice soft and soothing.

  “ ’Cause they don’t understand and can make bad things happen.”

  And bad things did happen.

  They died.

  A warm palm cupped her cheek, stirring her from her memories. A blink outside showed they were parked near Lizzie’s building.

  Stillness surrounded them, the late hour leaving Seventy-Ninth Street quiet.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Issac asked softly, his thumb tracing her skin.

  She frowned. Do I? “I…” She cleared her dry throat, the sandpaper texture a result of hours of disuse. “No.” She didn’t want to talk at all.

  Issac studied her for a long moment before opening the door. He appeared beside her too quickly, pulling her from her seat and guiding her to the building’s entrance without a word.

  “Key?” he asked.

  He didn’t remark on the placement as she pulled the item from her bra. She hadn’t wanted to carry a bag tonight. Good thing, too, because she probably would have left it behind and then that psychopath would have her address. If he didn’t already.

  She trembled at the thought, Issac’s palm against her skin doing nothing to dispel the chill overwhelming her body.

  Osiris knows my name.

  What if he came for her? Did he sense her fledgling status?

  “Do let me know when it’s done?”

  What did that even mean?

  “Is Elizabeth home?” Issac asked. They were already outside her door.

  She frowned. When did they even go into the elevator?

  “Astasiya,” he murmured, his hand on her face again. “Is Elizabeth home?”

  Lizzie? Stas shook her head. Her roommate volunteered one Sa
turday night a month at a children’s shelter in Harlem. She wouldn’t be back until late tomorrow morning.

  Which meant Stas would alone tonight.

  Her stomach churned at the realization, the nightmares already playing behind her eyes. Oh God…

  The door opened.

  She disabled the alarm on instinct, moving on autopilot to the kitchen. Water. She needed a big glass of it. Followed by some alcohol.

  Issac followed her, his jacket having disappeared with his tie.

  Did he leave them in the car? Her closet? She couldn’t even remember if he wore them inside.

  Whatever. She chugged her cup, not caring at all what he thought of her inelegance, and poured herself another. It cooled her throat, easing the burn with each gulp. She closed her eyes, her shoulders falling, her back resting against the refrigerator.

  Her stomach rumbled, the tightening in her gut reminding her how many hours had passed since her last meal. As if she could eat something now, or ever again. The mere thought of it made her nauseous.

  No. No food.

  “Talk to me, Astasiya,” Issac murmured, the heat of his body seeping into her pores as he stood beside her.

  She didn’t look at him.

  Didn’t reply.

  Because she had no idea what to say. Or perhaps she had too much to say.

  “Please, love.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering against her neck.

  His bite.

  God, she had a fucking vampire in her kitchen.

  No, a demon.

  An Ichorian.

  Whatever the fuck any of that even meant. They burned people alive after skinning them. Certainly not angels despite what Issac had told her about descending from one. Seraphim.

  She nearly laughed, the hysterical summarization taunting her sanity.

  “Talk to me,” he urged, his thumb tracing the column of her throat. “I miss your voice.”

  He misses my voice? He was the one who told her she couldn’t speak all night.

  Fucking rules.

  Laws.

  Trials.

  A tear slipped from her eye that he caught with his thumb, brushing it to the side. His lips pressed against her forehead, his arms wrapping around her as he pulled her into a hug.